The major exhibition “All Power to the People: Black Panthers at 50” is lacking that most crucial artifact, a shiny black leather jacket with a “Free Huey” button on the left lapel, accessorized by a black beret. But it has the man who invented that uniform and wore it better than anyone — Bobby Seale, standing on the second-floor terrace at the Oakland Museum of California (OMCA).

From this promontory overlooking Lake Merritt, the founding chairman and national organizer for the Panthers can point to buildings and describe crucial moments that took place in each.

What is most powerfully authentic is the setting at 10th and Oak streets. You can go into the Great Hall and study a moment in Panther history, then go out onto the Peace Sculpture Terrace and identify that moment’s location with a map and reading rail called “It Happened Here.”

Seale, who lives in Vallejo, doesn’t need a locator map or reading aid. His descriptions are colorful and animated; and he’s adept at mimicking both the ministerial cadence of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. and the prison rasp of Panther co-founder Huey P. Newton. As he warms up, Seale’s monologue becomes so entertaining that de Guzman sits down on a stone bench and just listens, like a schoolkid, as Seale riffs away.

“All Power to the People” opens by laying some foundation for the rise of the Panthers. For Seale, it all started on Dec. 28, 1962, when he went to see King speak at the Oakland Civic Auditorium, now the Kaiser Convention Center, behind OMCA.

4of 4Emory Douglas, untitled (On the Bones of the Oppressors), 1969. Poster, 20 x 13.5 in. Collection of the Oakland Museum of California. All Of Us Or None Archive. Gift of the Rossman Family.Photo: Oakland Museum of California

“I have a top job. I work at Kaiser Aerospace & Electronics in the engineering department. ... What was it about this auditorium that got me interested in the civil rights process?

To answer his own question, he switches to the voice of King as he heard it that day.

“He said, ‘Here in the Bay Area, the Langendorf bread company and the Kilpatrick bread company will not hire any people of color. I say we’re going to have to boycott them, and we’re going to have to boycott them so completely and so profoundly that we’re going to make Wonder Bread wonder where the money went.’”

Four years later, Seale, who learned his trade in the Air Force, had left his job at Kaiser and gone back to school at Merritt College to study black history. He formed a group called Soul Students Advisory Council and invited Newton, an ex-con and fellow Merritt College student, to a rally where Seale spoke.

On Oct. 22, 1966, his 30th birthday, Seale and Newton formed the Black Panther Party for Self Defense. Their founding declaration was the “Ten Point Platform and Program,” and the rough draft in Seale’s handwriting is under glass.

The platform called for full employment for black people, decent housing, the release of all black people from jails and prisons, and an end to police brutality of black people. To reach that end, the Panthers armed themselves, and the result of that can be seen in a replica of a jail cell, with an authentic cell door borrowed from the Alameda County Sheriff’s Office. You can press your face in between the bars, a feeling that Seale knows.

Standing out on the east terrace, Seale points to the Alameda County Courthouse, a triumphant 1930s building across 11th Street.

“Upstairs on the top is the Alameda County Jail. I’ve been in there. Huey’s been in there. Huey’s trial was in this building. He was found not guilty of first-degree murder (for the shooting of an Oakland police officer) and not guilty of second-degree murder, only guilty of third-degree voluntary manslaughter.

Panthers line up at a Free Huey rally in DeFremery Park, Oakland, July 28, 1968. The light-skinned man is Gregory Harrison. His brother, Oleander, was in the group that went to Sacramento.

Photo: Stephen Shames, courtesy Steven Kasher Gallery, Polaris

The courthouse jail is at the same elevation as the top-floor apartment at 1200 Lakeshore Ave. that Newton took upon his release. Seale points out the balcony where Newton would stand and point to the courthouse at the other end of Lake Merritt.

“We put Huey Newton there while I was in jail. I was in jail for two years without bail while I went through two major historical trials, the Chicago Seven conspiracy trial (for fomenting a riot at the 1968 Democratic Convention) and in Connecticut (for murder of an FBI informant). Huey came out of jail 10 months before I did. When they told me they were putting him up there, I said, ‘That’s good, because ... that’s a security building. Senior citizens live up in there and maybe the police wouldn’t be rushing in that building with a bunch of guns. (Laughs.)”

A critical moment in Panther history came April 8, 1968, four days after the murder of King. Bobby Hutton, the first person to join the Panthers and its treasurer, was killed by police in a violent confrontation in West Oakland. Hutton was just 17 and became a martyr for the Panther cause.

Actor Marlon Brando attended his funeral at Ephesian Church of God; and afterward, they all gathered at the Camron-Stanford House, last of the Victorians on the shore of Lake Merritt.

“I’d forgotten the amount of places I took Brando. He was a close friend of mine. He must have come up here five or six times and spent a day or two with us.”

The violence long associated with the Panthers is represented in the exhibit by a shotgun in a glass case not far from a simple grocery bag, also in a glass case. This represents Seale’s proudest moment as a Panther, the Black Community Survival Conference that included a chicken in every bag, for 10,000 bags, and a voter registration form for every adult.

“Laney College is where we did all the bagging. We got the cafeteria and set it up. ... I got a black gang called the Zodiacs to do some work. I convinced them. ... We got the young gangs working with the old people. I went up to the University of California and got me 500 white radicals to help me. ... I wrote a cookbook later on. I had ribs, chicken, collard greens, you name it. That was for the workers. They worked eight-hour shifts for 2½ days. No chickens in the bag. You can’t have them sitting there for a day or two. Then they rolled it all over to the auditorium.”

With that, his monologue shifts across to the auditorium where it had all started with King’s speech 10 years prior. By now Seale is rolling and his speech cannot be stopped. At 79, he jumps up on a ledge and starts waving his arms to emphasize the drama of the food giveaway.

“That auditorium holds 6,750 seats. We packed the place. I pulled in entertainers. ... The groceries were hidden. Finally all the chickens are in the bags. John Lee Hooker has been playing for an hour and a half. ... We got him off the stage. ... That curtain went up and with the lights beaming down the cellophane on those chickens glittered.

“In 45 minutes, all 10,000 bags of groceries were gone and those chickens were still at 32 degrees. That was the name of that game.”

Exhibition: “All Power to the People: Black Panthers at 50” runs through Feb. 12, 2017 at the Oakland Museum of California, 1000 Oak St. General admission: $15.95. Closed Monday and Tuesday. www.museumca.org.

Sam Whiting has been a feature writer at The San Francisco Chronicle for 30 years. He started in the People section, which was anchored by Herb Caen's column, and has written about people ever since. For five years he had a weekly Sunday magazine column called Neighborhoods. He currently covers art, culture and entertainment for the Datebook section. He walks a minimum of three miles a day in San Francisco, searching out public art and street art for posting on Instagram @sfchronicle_art.